


Return To Me

by pensively



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Food, Getting Back Together, M/M, Old Married Couple, Romance, Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, T'hy'la
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-28 14:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5093900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensively/pseuds/pensively
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three months ago, Jim Kirk risked everything -- his career, the <i>Enterprise</i>, even his own life -- for Spock.  However, the joy of Spock's return was tempered with sorrow; it was necessary to shield their bond until Spock's mind was ready to join with Jim's once more.</p><p>But when their mission to save the Earth from destruction brings up old memories of their life together, Jim and Spock find themselves with the opportunity to reconnect. </p><p>A tale of love, homecoming...and pasta.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Return To Me

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my dear friend who wishes to remain anonymous for beta'ing, to [RocknVaughn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RocknVaughn/pseuds/RocknVaughn) for pre-reading, giving feedback, and helping me with my summary woes, and to [plaidshirtjimkirk](http://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidshirtjimkirk/pseuds/plaidshirtjimkirk) for beta'ing, all the encouragement, and modding the challenge.
> 
> The title is taken from the song [Return To Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NyFqVPdgBCs), by Dean Martin.
> 
> Written for the [OMS Challenge](http://oldmarriedspirk.tumblr.com/).

_Golden Gate Park, San Francisco  
1986_

The sky over San Francisco shifted from the black of night to pre-dawn grey with the faintest hints of pink and orange on the horizon as the Northern Hemisphere rotated toward the sun. Jim leaned against the side of the cloaked Klingon Bird-of-Prey, aware that he would appear to be propped up by thin air to anyone who happened by. After a night spent working feverishly on the seemingly unending list of tasks critical to the success of their mission, Jim found it difficult to care about the prospect of discovery quite as much as he knew he ought. If he asked, he was sure Spock could quote him the exact probability that some early morning park-goer would stumble across him as he rested his back against the ship, but as weary as he was, it was a risk he was willing to take. 

Jim sighed, reaching up to massage his aching neck with tired fingers. Even if they hadn't required every pair of hands to get the work done, he'd never been able to rest well when a member of his crew was unaccounted for. He shuffled his feet, feeling the soles of his boots slide against the dew-kissed grass, and looked to the side as a figure in a white robe emerged from the _Bounty_.

Spock approached silently, his hands clasped behind his back in a gesture so familiar that it made Jim's heart ache. He had removed the strip of white cloth he'd used to conceal the tips of his ears and the slant of his brow and Jim half-smiled, oddly comforted by the sight of his bondmate's familiar features. He remembered tracing the tips of those ears with loving fingers, delighting in the little shivers that would run through Spock's body as he did so. While Spock was not one for public displays of affection beyond the touching of the first two fingers considered socially acceptable by most Vulcans, in the privacy of their quarters he allowed Jim every liberty. Jim had made the most of that privilege, exploring every part of his husband's willing body in search of the pleasure they would share.

As he and Spock stood together in silence Jim lamented the loss of mental and physical intimacy between them. At the back of his mind, the place where their bond had once hummed with life and warmth now lay dormant; it was present still, but cold and silent. Sarek had explained the necessity of shielding the bond to Jim, expressing palpable regret in his own subtle way. Jim understood it logically; Spock needed to reconstruct his memories and sense of self without undue interference from his bondmate’s mind because Jim, being human, was unable to filter his own thoughts and emotions as a Vulcan would have done. While the shielded bond was marginally more tolerable than the agonizing pain and emptiness of the broken bond that had followed Spock’s sacrifice in the reactor chamber, Jim still longed with every fiber of his being for the deep connection they’d once shared. The bright flare of warmth in his mind after the Fal-tor-pan had been all too brief before T’Lar had shielded Spock’s mind from Jim. 

Jim glanced at Spock, still standing patiently beside him. Spock lifted his brow in inquiry and Jim merely nodded. Even with the bond shielded and their relationship gone formal and strange, they had a way of understanding each other without words. It wasn’t much, but Jim would take every small comfort he could get. 

“Admiral,” Spock began, then paused. “Jim. The preparations are nearing completion. Mr. Scott estimates the dilithium crystals will be fully recharged in 53.6 minutes.”

A surge of adrenaline chased away some of Jim’s fatigue. He cracked a smile and shifted his feet, drawing himself up and rolling his shoulders back. The wait was nearly over, and Jim always felt better when there was something to do. It seemed as though there were a million little things -- Spock could tell him the exact number, he was sure -- that had to go exactly right to pull off this mission, but with the fate of every life on Earth hanging in the balance, there was no choice but to go forth and give it everything they had. 

“You took off your bandanna,” Jim commented. “Too uncomfortable?”

“It was not unbearable,” Spock replied, “but not precisely comfortable, either. As the mission does not require me to leave the ship again, I have removed it. Do you object?”

“No, Spock. Just an observation. Is Bones ready? There’s no telling what kind of condition Chekov will be in when we find him and I couldn’t tell if all the grumbling about the ‘damned poor equipment on this Klingon flea trap’ was a legitimate issue or just his usual charming commentary.”

“The doctor is prepared, although he continues his illogical behavior,” Spock confirmed. “He does, however, insist that you eat while the opportunity is available.”

Jim shook his head. “I’m too keyed up to eat right now, Spock.”

“It is logical that you do so, Jim. Hunger and fatigue will negatively impact the performance of your duties, and it is necessary that we all perform to the highest standard if we are to accomplish our mission.”

Jim looked up into the sky, studying the shifting of the light as the night waned. His thoughts turned inward as he considered both Spock’s words and the passage of time. Dawn was approaching rapidly and what had been mere hints of orange and pink only moments ago were now streaks boldly piercing and overtaking the pre-dawn grey. He glanced over at Spock again and said quietly, “You really do like Italian, you know.”

Spock lifted one brow. “Jim?”

“When you mentioned eating, it reminded me. You know, when we were in Gillian’s truck? You really do like Italian. I guess you don’t remember Mario’s, but you once said their food was ‘highly satisfactory’. You particularly liked their mushroom ravioli. Mario was always offering to make other vegetarian things for you, but you almost always got that ravioli. You really loved it.”

While Spock's expression remained unchanged, Jim caught the slightest softening in Spock's dark eyes and his heart skipped a beat. Not since Spock's hesitantly uttered, "Jim. Your name is...Jim," had he felt such a fullness in his chest. For the past three months, Jim had diligently given Spock the space he'd been told Spock required, treating his husband and bondmate as nothing more than his long-time first officer and friend. For three months, Jim had rejoiced in having Spock back at his side, and grieved for all that they'd lost. How he had longed to resume their relationship, feel the comfort of Spock’s steady presence at his side, and see Spock look at him with the warmth that had always been reserved only for Jim. 

“While it is true that I do not recall this Mario’s, the idea that we once frequented this place is...pleasing,” Spock said at last. “I find I wish to remember it.”

“I wish you did, too,” Jim said quietly. He looked down at the ground pensively, kicking his toe against the damp grass. There was a time when thoughts and ideas flowed between them as easily as water, expertly filtered by Spock’s mental training so that the information exchange was neither overwhelming nor distracting. 

_If only it weren’t for the shield_ , he thought.

Jim stopped short, cutting his eyes over to Spock and looking at him appraisingly. Later, he’d probably look back on this as incredibly -- perhaps even foolishly -- impulsive, but for now all he could do was try to grasp this brief moment between them with both hands and hold on to it for all he was worth. 

“Spock, you could remember it.” Jim said earnestly. “And anything else you want, through me.”

Seconds ticked by in agonizing silence as Spock stared back at him blank-faced. Embarrassment began to roil in Jim’s belly, sour and nauseating, but he held Spock’s gaze with determination. What he’d suggested was impulsive, yes, but surely not impossible. Jim had been told Spock needed their bond shielded in order to rebuild and reorder his mind, but so much had changed, hadn’t it? And Spock _had_ made tremendous progress these past months, hadn’t he? 

At last, the most minute shift of expression came over Spock’s face, invisible to all but the most dedicated scholar of all things Spock. It was clear to Jim that his suggestion had not been at all what Spock had been expecting to hear. 

“Jim…” Spock shifted position, unclasping his hands and bringing his arms forward until they hung motionless by his sides. For perhaps half a second it had appeared to Jim that Spock’s hand had twitched toward him, but even he couldn’t be certain. “Jim, are you certain of what you are suggesting? A meld at this time…”

“It’s barely light out and no one’s around,” Jim coaxed. “I’m accustomed to melds. It won’t do me any harm; it might even do me some good. Melds always left me calm and relaxed...just what I need before we go out and try to save the world, don’t you think?”

“This is unwise,” Spock said quietly. “But I find that I am unable to say ‘no’ to you, Jim.” He stepped forward, lifting his hand with his fingers spread and ready to touch Jim’s meld points. “You are certain?”

“As I’ve ever been about anything, Spock,” Jim breathed out, the knot of embarrassment in his stomach shifting into a kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering their wings and tickling his insides. Spock’s cool fingertips settled on Jim’s face with the ease of long familiarity. In the dim orange-pink light, Spock’s angular face appeared sharp and fierce, but his eyes were gentle. Jim inhaled deeply while looking into those beloved eyes until his own fell closed of their own accord.

He was alone in the dark counting his breaths, and then suddenly Jim felt Spock’s mental presence again after what had felt like an eternity alone in his own mind. It wasn’t the full sharing they’d once had with a healthy, unshielded marriage bond, but Jim grasped at the feeling with clumsy mental fingers, pulling ineffectually at Spock’s mental presence as though to wrap himself in it as he might a warm blanket on a cold winter’s night. He felt amusement tinged with regret from Spock, and perhaps longing, as if Spock also wished to wrap himself up in Jim but didn’t dare lose himself now, not when time was short. 

_We cannot linger, Jim…_

Spock’s mental voice had a depth and clarity it lacked when spoken, as if here in the meld each word was infused with Spock's deep, complex emotions in a way that mere vocal chords could not possibly achieve. His words were shaded with meaning, and in them Jim heard the truth. Time was short and his impulsive offer to share this reminiscence with Spock must be acted upon quickly. As the memory of their last dinner at Mario's before the _Enterprise_ 's final, ill-fated training cruise was fresh in his mind, he had merely to think of it and they were there.

***

After a long, scenic drive through California wine country, they stop in a small town that somehow managed to evade the passage of time and its attendant technological advances. Like something out of a 20th century magazine, the commercial district is comprised of well-maintained buildings and family-owned businesses. Sandwiched between a pharmacy and a dry cleaner in a strip of brick buildings, Mario’s opens onto a wide clean sidewalk. Bright green shutters are thrown open against the neat red brick facade. Windows so clean they sparkle are inset into the structure, and engraved on the glass in flowing script limned in gold are the words, “Mario’s Ristorante”. The green-painted door swings open with a creak and a jingle of the little brass bells hung atop the doorframe. Mario himself steps forward, a wide smile on his tanned, weathered face. A mop of snow-white hair surrounds his head and generous tufts stick up haphazardly in the back as though no comb or pomade could ever tame them.

“Admiral Kirk! Captain Spock! Che piacere vederti!”

“Good to see you too, Mario,” Jim says with a grin. He takes Mario’s proffered hand and shakes it firmly, watching as Mario exchanges nods with Spock. With all the visits they’ve made to this restaurant, Jim has never been able to convince Mario to call them simply by their names, but from the beginning they’ve been treated like family. The restaurant’s home-like atmosphere is just one of many reasons they both consider Mario’s worth the trip. 

“This way, this way,” Mario says, moving quickly between tables and chairs to a darkened corner as far as possible from the clatter of the bustling kitchen and the glare of the setting sun shining bright through the large windows. He leads them to a table for two with the chairs arranged one beside the other so that Jim and Spock can sit close. The only source of illumination is a fat white pillar candle placed at the center of the table. The glow of the flame shines through the grapevine relief on the exterior of the glass candle jar, dappling the polished wood with spots of golden light. 

Mario pulls out both of their chairs while gesturing expansively. Jim and Spock settle themselves comfortably, sheltered in the privacy of the shadowed alcove. He brings over clean white placemats, thick cream-colored porcelain bread plates still hot from the dishwasher, and antique silverware wrapped in white linen napkins. Mario’s daughter, Angelina, smiles at both of them as she approaches with a platter bearing a loaf of hot, fresh rosemary bread glistening with oil and herbs. Mario pours extra virgin olive oil into a dish for dipping and Jim’s fingers twitch with the desire to tear into the warm aromatic bread and rip it apart before dipping it in the oil and eating it. It’s the freshest, most delicious bread he’s ever had the pleasure of eating and he’s been known to say, quite seriously, that he would make the trip here for the bread alone. 

Ice cubes crackle as water is poured over them from an aluminum pitcher beaded with condensation and two tumblers are placed on the table. Over at the bar, Jim spies a bottle of his favorite cabernet filling a waiting wine glass beside Spock’s Altair water.

“When Angelina told me you called I was so happy,” Mario says still smiling widely, his too-straight teeth gleaming in the candlelight. “What will you have to eat tonight, my friends? You tell me, and I will make it. Anything you want.”

Jim looks to Spock, who inclines his head and says in his deep, sonorous voice, “I will have the mushroom ravioli with walnut cream sauce, please.”

In the back of his mind, Jim can feel a muted thrum of anticipation from Spock. It is nothing compared to the intensity of Spock’s feelings when they make love, but it is obvious that Spock takes a decidedly hedonistic pleasure in the dish. Thoughts and sensations echo between them, and for a moment Jim shares Spock’s recollection of his teeth sinking into the tender ravioli for the first time, tasting the savory cheese-and-mushroom filling complemented by the creamy sauce. The flavor is rich and decadent with a hint of earthiness from the mushrooms. The soft, smooth texture of the pillowy raviolis made from fresh pasta dough make for a very satisfying mouthfeel. Deep beneath the layers of logic and control beats the heart of a sensualist, Jim thinks, although Spock will never admit it. 

The moment passes and Jim turns his attention back to Mario, who waits patiently with his hands clasped over his pristine white apron. “You know what? Why don’t you surprise me. You’ve never steered me wrong before, Mario, and I think I’m in the mood to try something different tonight.”

“Ah, Admiral Kirk! I know just the thing! I just received some white truffles from my nephew in Alba. Absolutely sublime! They will go perfectly with the tagliolini I was just making. Butter, parmigiano reggiano, a splash of stock...it will be delicious. This is good?”

Jim’s stomach growls loudly and he lets out a surprised laugh. “That sounds like a yes to me. Just don’t tell my doctor.” 

Spock’s expression remains unchanged, but an image of McCoy in high dudgeon flits back and forth between them and mild amusement emanates from the other end of the bond. McCoy likes to say that Spock spoils Jim terribly -- and it’s probably true -- but what the good doctor doesn’t know won’t hurt him. 

“Very good, my friends.” Mario says as he starts to turn away. He turns back with a conspiratorial grin on his face. “And if that doctor friend of yours gives you trouble, Admiral Kirk, you bring him to me. I’ll make him a meal so delicious he’ll be too full to argue with you for a week!”

As Mario walks away, his son Tony comes over from the bar with their drinks and leaves them with a mock-salute before disappearing into the kitchen behind his father. The bread is still calling Jim’s name, but now that they are alone he takes a moment to discreetly brush his fingers against Spock’s beneath the table. Their work keeps them busy, something they both prefer, although Jim still longs to be among the stars. That Spock shares this longing, that he understands it, and by extension Jim, on a deeper level than anyone else Jim has ever known possibly could...it’s just one more reason Jim loves Spock so much.

The warmth of love envelops them as they sit in their private nook. The few other diners in the restaurant might as well be in another galaxy, so wrapped up in one another are Jim and Spock. It isn’t until Angelina comes to refill their drinks and take away the crumb-laden bread platter that Jim looks out into the dining room and notices that the sun has set, leaving the room shrouded in darkness but for the twinkling candles on each table and dimmed light bulbs in old-fashioned wrought iron and glass sconces on the walls. Mario has turned the sound system on, and strains of opera float in the air.

“That’s Pavarotti, isn’t it?” Jim says, taking a sip of his wine.

“Yes, singing _Non Ti Scordar Di Me_ , by Ernesto De Curtis. It was said to be one of Pavarotti’s favorites.” Beneath the swelling tenor Spock speaks, translating the lyrics in a quiet voice.

 _Don't forget me!  
My life is bound to you!  
I love you more and more,  
you remain in my dreams.  
Don't forget me!  
My life is bound to you!  
There will always be a nest in my heart for you.  
Don't forget me!_

“My life is bound to you,” Jim repeats softly. He hooks his index finger with Spock’s beneath the table and smiles. “It’s appropriate.”

Before Spock can respond, a beaming Mario approaches bearing a large tray laden with heavy dishes. At first glance it appears to be too much for his slender frame, but there is strength in those wiry limbs and Mario handles it with aplomb, gracefully placing the tray on a stand placed for him by Angelina. 

“One mushroom ravioli with walnut cream sauce for Captain Spock,” he pronounces, placing a large oval platter in front of Spock with a flourish. Spock inhales and gives Mario an appreciative nod, and it’s a testament to Mario’s perception and familiarity with them that his smile grows impossibly wider in response to the unspoken compliment.

“And for you, Admiral, the Tagliolini al Tartufo Bianco.” A deep, wide-mouthed pasta bowl is placed in front of Jim and he leans over to breathe in the scent of garlic, butter, and rich cheese. Intermixed with the richness of the golden noodles coated in butter and cheese is the earthy-sweet scent of white truffles, like dead oak leaves clustered in wet piles on a forest floor.

Jim lifts a heavy silver fork and spears the tender pasta, twirling it to capture the perfect bite. Beside him, Spock is savoring his ravioli and that same sensation rolls through him again, so strong that he can almost taste the creamy walnut sauce himself. Jim lifts the fork to his mouth and takes a bite. A melange of pungent garlic mellowed by velvety butter mingled with hot, salty parmesan cheese coats his tongue as he chews the perfectly al dente pasta. White truffles aren’t something Jim makes a habit of eating, but he could get used to the way their savory richness satisfies his taste for umami.

He lifts the fork again, pausing to look over at Spock with a grin before winding up another bite of pasta. Jim’s mouth waters in anticipation as he prepares to eat the bite…

_Jim, we have no more time…_

The restaurant and all its sights, sounds, smells -- and most tragically of all, the sensation of Spock’s mind touching his -- recedes like the ocean at low tide.

***

Jim abruptly found himself standing in the middle of Golden Gate Park partially shielded by one of the _Bounty_ ’s cloaked wings, squinting against the pale yellow light of early morning. Strong hands have grasped his upper arms in a bracing hold and kept him upright as he reeled, still drunk on the memory of his bond to Spock, now shielded and silent once more. He looked up into Spock’s face, surprised to see that his stoic facade had crumbled and his face filled with regret. Most striking of all was the look of desperate longing in his expressive eyes.

“Spock,” Jim gasped, his eyes widening in realization. “You want the bond unshielded too, don’t you? Do it then. I’m ready.” He let out a ragged breath. “More than ready.”

“My Jim,” Spock said hoarsely. His face was anguished as he shook his head. “I cannot. Not when so much is at stake. Were I to unshield the bond now, I would lose myself in you.”

Jim knew that Spock was right. Just the memory of their bond, warm and alive, filled him with a longing so intense it nearly overwhelmed him. If Spock unshielded the bond now, it would compromise their mission, and that was something they would never do. He shook his head and dropped his hands from Spock’s wrists, stepping back as he struggled to regain his composure.

“You’re right. It was enough...maybe more than enough that we took the time to meld. But I don’t regret it,” he said fiercely, staring intently at Spock. “All this time I thought you needed space from me, but you don’t, do you? Not anymore. Tell me, Spock. Tell me now.”

“It is true, Jim,” Spock said, clasping his hands in front of him. His countenance had shifted back to its controlled, static expression, but there was still a slightly agitated, unsettled quality to his demeanor. “My mind has been sufficiently recovered to resume our bond for thirteen days, twelve hours, and forty-three point five minutes.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Spock looked down for a moment, and then met Jim’s eyes again. “I wished to, but once I came to understand what I had done to you by shutting you out as I recovered, I felt...shame. I did not know how to ask.”

Jim choked out a laugh. "All this time I've wanted to reconnect with you, and you've wanted the same. You'd think after all this time and everything we've gone through to be together, we'd be better at this by now. What a mess.”

“It is not,” Spock began hesitantly, “a ‘mess’ as you say, that cannot be rectified.”

“But not now,” Jim said with a sigh.

“Now is not the optimal time for such a thing.”

“Later, then.” Jim said firmly. “All we have to do is liberate a couple of whales, take them back to our time and have them respond to an alien probe so that the world isn’t destroyed. We’ll have our bond unshielded by dinnertime.”

“It sounds...deceptively simple when you phrase it that way, Jim.”

Jim flashed a smile. “I’ve got the best damn crew in all of Starfleet, and you at my side. We’ll make it.”

Spock did not respond in words, but the warmth in his eyes was true and all that Jim had longed for. The fate of all the lives on Earth still hung in the balance, but as Jim followed Spock back into the ship he felt renewed, his mind sharp and clear. They would make it back to their time, and back together. He was sure of it.

***

_USS Enterprise NCC-1701-A  
2286_

Later, after facing court martial in the Federation Council Chamber and receiving a demotion that put him back exactly where he truly wished to be, Jim found himself alone in the captain's quarters on the new _Enterprise_. As required by Starfleet regulations for legally married couples, the quarters were set up to be shared with Spock, and the chamber felt bare and overlarge with only Jim's belongings unpacked and neatly arranged.

He thought of that last, all-too-brief meld with Spock and the overwhelming emotions it had triggered. To experience his bond with Spock once more, even in a memory...it had amplified a thousandfold the need to reconnect with Spock he'd already been feeling. That short meld -- a mere ten-point-three minutes, Spock had later informed him -- had changed everything. How could so much emotion and such vivid memories fill up such a fleeting moment?

_The mind was uncanny._

Jim paced restlessly. He trailed his fingers along the shiny new bulkheads. He inspected the deckplates and scuffed his uniform boots along them, then checked to make sure the clean floor remained unmarked. He pulled as his collar, then began methodically unfastening his uniform jacket. Just as he pulled it off, Jim heard the swish of the door sliding open.

Spock stepped into the quarters pulling a large wheeled crate behind him. He stopped just inside the entrance and looked at Jim, clasping his hands behind his back. 

“It is, perhaps, presumptuous of me to bring my belongings to these quarters without notice,” he said stiffly, “but in light of our prior discussion I thought it logical to do so. Assuming that my presence is still welcome?”

“More than, Spock,” Jim said, smiling so hard he was surprised his face didn’t hurt. “We didn’t quite make it home by dinnertime, but I’m here and ready if you are.”

Spock’s posture eased. “As it is likely that we will be uninterested in other matters once the bond has been unshielded, it would be wise to ensure our schedules are clear for the immediate future.”

“Already done,” Jim grinned. “Uhura has the conn, my yeoman is routing all our messages and such to Scotty, and we’re both off-duty for the next twenty-four hours.”

Spock lifted a brow. “Efficiently done, Jim.”

Jim stepped up to Spock, extending two fingers. He was pleased to see Spock return the gesture without hesitation. As he stood there with their fingertips barely touching, he angled his chin down and looked up through his eyelashes, giving Spock the coy little smile that had, on many past occasions, got him thoroughly kissed. Spock’s breathing hitched, his gaze dropping to Jim’s mouth. 

“I know my priorities, Mr. Spock.”

“It seems you do...t’hy’la.” Spock lifted his free hand, then dropped it. “Perhaps we should change our clothing.”

“We can if you want,” Jim said teasingly. “But I assume we’ll just be taking them off anyway. Wouldn’t it be logical not to spend the time?” He leaned closer, not breaking the contact between their fingertips as he brought his lips within a hairsbreadth of Spock’s. 

“Logical,” Spock murmured against Jim’s lips. He released Jim’s fingers only to wrap his arm around Jim’s body, his hand firm on the small of Jim’s back as he closed the final distance between them. “Logical, indeed.” 

Jim tilted his head and Spock met him, their lips touching fully at last. Long moments passed as they re-learned the feel of one another, lip to lip and body to body as they reveled in the closeness they had so long been denied. Jim teased at Spock's lips with the tip of his tongue and was rewarded with a groan as Spock's mouth opened against his. He drowned in Spock's coppery taste and the sensation of Spock's strong arm at his back, anchoring him in place as the other lifted to settle parted fingers on Jim's meld points.

At long last warmth, joy, and love flooded his mind and Jim surrendered himself to it. 

_I’ve come home…_


End file.
